Lament
by Ibbonray
Summary: "Death, Benvolio? Death? 'Tis but an obscure adventure, unmapped as Verona were, ere centuries ago! Perhaps in collaboration, we shall explore it."


I am in no way Shakespeare, but I regard this attempt to replicate such writing a success. Please note that it's written in second person, so the "thy"s and "thou"s reoccur often. Furthermore, I'll clarify the pairing: this is unrequited Benvolio/Romeo and Mercutio/Benvolio, as canon with the original play.  
>If you don't understand the basic synopsis because of the language, drop a review, and I can summarize it via PM, as well as point out the intermixed metaphors.<p>

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><p><strong>Lament<br>**(Four instances Benvolio possessed optimism, and one time he didn't.)

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><p><strong>I. <strong>_Scene I, Act II _- "Madness"

"Blind is his love and best befits the dark." The words are wine against a taut tongue, contempt lacing thy tone. Thy thoughts concerning Rosaline art heavy, and thy soul doth bear the brunt of it, for you associate Romeo with the stars in the skies, conjointly with the stars in thy eyes. Whence came this revelation, thou hast forgotten- if asked wherefore, thou art clueless. 'Tis as the Montagues and the Capulets quarrel; inevitable.

The peregrine doth not hold a feather to Mercutio. "If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark," exclaim'st thy counterpart. 'Tis a jest, ere subtleties, but gallant Mercutio's speeches do not forego madness. Thou fathom reassurance, and it doth fortify the soul. Perhaps Rosaline shall become a treacherous sight in thine eyes, and Romeo accept thy love fain? A taut tongue loosens behind thy smile.

Alas, thou canst not fathom underlying lament: 'twas the method to all madness.

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><p><strong>II. <strong>_Scene V, Act II _- "Assumption"

Ere luncheon, coloured rose was the sun. You reminisce thine cousin's wry phrasing- "Crimson sky atop morrow, 'tis sailors' great sorrow"- and thou wonderest of wishing "Good morrow" upon such pigment. Anon, thither art the skies a lucid blue, akin to thy cousin Mercutio's irises. Thou markest the deception, analogous to thy own.

"O Romeo, Romeo," sayeth thy lips, of individual accord, "Fie! Marry, thou hast spurred the melancholy." 'Neath willow, thy dreams plague nature, as nature plagues you; entombed art the flowers, whence arboreal weeping derives. The flowers art thy relations, whether Montague or Capulet, Azalea or Dahlia, perennial or ephemeral. You lament. To be a flower would empower thee; to be deflowered, well… 'tis improper to rejoice at such daydreams, is it not?

Vocal interruption: 'twas always thy recurring fear. "Good Benvolio," Romeo appears from amongst cerulean, "How hast I rendered thee melancholic?"

A momentary pause for recollection. "Thou hast given the counterfeit with well-flowered Rosaline," sayest thou in ultimacy, with the gall of rose-thorns. Romeo shall evidently think thee cynical.

"Rosaline? Wherefore dost thou surmise such?" Romeo exclaim'st, incredulous. "Marry, this counterfeit transpired- Mercutio puts it so- alas, I assailed Rosaline not, nor deflowered any ladybird. 'Tis Mercutio's quarreling that corrupts truth; thou knowst this. …I prithee answer, dost thou love Rosaline?"

Ere anon, thou hast not experienced relief so great. "Ay," thou sayest, and 'neath osier tree dost a liar lie.

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><p><strong>III. <strong>_Scene I, Act III _- "Denial"

"'Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man." Thou hast seen these lips spill similar theatrics, yet morrow bore an ill-divining sky, and thou knowst of honesty. Mercutio's words be Mercutio's wound; simultaneously they bleed. Stained ruby is the gray masquerade, and thou hast none of Romeo's foolish disbelief, the wound thus proven by thine cousin's weary amble. Thy lent lenity supports Mercutio, 'til hence the battlefield, the man falls.

"'Twould be Fortuna, of the Midsummer day, who would impeach me of idle virtues- 'twould be Queen Mab of fantasy to impersonate a seductress, and lead astray this juvenile's unadulterated morality- fie, I am corrupt!" Preacheth he. "'Tis a cerebral scratch, Benvolio, prithee art immune. O, but 'twas inevitable that Mab should gallop o'er my dozing frame and plague these dreams of mine, for she hath Ares' temper… what am I, Tantalus? I've dreamt the syrup-sweet, yet reality is cruel. Benvolio, wherefore art thou bent o'er such piteous knave? Thou art a man of stars."

"Thou talk'st of nothing- I am no such man."

"Yet 'tis everything honest that I speak; thou hast gallantry to love a man as I, though you love no man in such sense, for Mab hath not endowed such torture upon thy pure soul-"

"Thou talk'st of nothing!" Thy eyes art analogous to Mercutio's wound: all but wells in depth, all but church-doors in width. Such confession hath spurred futile hope, but thou dost not deign to embrace it. Marry, not all liars lie- Mercutio hath a candor nature. Instead, upon death doth he lie, and he shalt die a man of grave honesty.

Thou think the wind doth not whisper so quietly as he. "Are dreams nothing, Benvolio?"

'Tis a valid question.

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><p><strong>IV. <strong>_Scene I, Act III _- "Decision"

Thou hast been educated to grovel at the toes of such monarchy, yet 'tis not befitting the occasion, for thy prince accents with gall that thou must act upon. "Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; who now the price of this dear blood doth owe?" 'Twas trial thou list to undertake, yet such practice abroaches hesitation, when thy mind speaks the dead words of Mercutio: "Trial and error, gentle Benvolio, trial and error!" Doth error play factor? Thou list not, for sake of thine beloved.

Alas, what be it if not love? Whence doth love come from, and wherefore? Forsooth, thou art fond of Romeo, but thou thinkst a peregrine's wings beat apace in thy stomach thereafter thine slain cousin's confession. Fie! This eve, Mercutio shall lie amongst dust, shielded from ill-divining regions. A plague o' both these houses! Thou art conflicted; lament renders thee baffled.

'Twas never thy aptitude to be apt, and thy contrite eyeball rises to the prince. "Let Romeo hence in haste," announceth the sovereign of fair Verona, "Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill." 'Tis but a moment that broken news lies alone; then you snatch it from thy prince's grasp, no less a Montague than the next. Anon, Mercutio lies amongst Romulus and Remus, whilst you embrace hope. Gray eyes flicker, for Mab hath endowed them with delight. Shalt thee head to Mantua?

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><p><strong>V. <strong>_Afterward _- "Adventure"_  
><em>

Thereafter, Cornucopian light irradiates thy somber features, the golden source a statue of two star cross'd lovers. 'Twas erected adjacent to a pine, and thou canst not bear such irony; marry, thou drownst thy pains in liquor, and 'tis bitter on the tongue. Thine cousins dead, thine family despair'd, thou hast nothing but memories to fuel this utter lament. Thy hope is mislead. Thy hope lies abandoned.

A cavern in thy heart, infinite in presence, hath grown to immense size. 'Tis impossible to suffuse with memories, and thou hast tried. "Death, Benvolio? Death?" Sayeth Mercutio, from within thy cerebral scratch. "'Tis but an obscure adventure, unmapped as Verona were, ere centuries ago! Perhaps in collaboration, we shall explore it."

And so thou shalt. 'Neath a sunset of blood, thou lift thy dagger to thy chest.

'Tis but a scratch, as they say.


End file.
